


Household Hazards (When the Culprit Finds a Ticklish Spot)

by Kisleth



Series: Though Scattered Across the Universe, We'll Always Find Each Other [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:44:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a kiss meme on tumblr (months ago. I forgot to post the other ones), the body part is stomach </p><p>It’s really kind of hilarious. The whole situation. Well, okay, maybe not the bleeding part, or the getting four stitches on the back of his head, or the horrified look of Steve, who had run in to find out what had broken and if they were under attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Household Hazards (When the Culprit Finds a Ticklish Spot)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



It’s really kind of hilarious. The whole situation. Well, okay, maybe not the bleeding part, or the getting four stitches on the back of his head, or the horrified look of Steve, who had run in to find out what had broken and if they were under attack.

But, it had started out completely different and was entirely Phil’s fault. Phil is currently blaming Clint, because only Clint has the bad ideas in their relationship.

Yeah, right.

It had begun innocently enough. Clint had been laying on his back on the couch and watching a documentary about some division called the Ghost Army in the second World War. The history and strategies of the tactical deception unit was probably giving Phil ideas. At least he thought so until Phil nosed his shirt up to start littering soft kisses over his belly. 

Clint doesn’t usually admit that he’s ticklish, but Phil knows he is there. He can feel the smirk against his abs as they twitch and quiver. He squirms a little and glares at Phil. Phil, that motherfucking bastard, takes it as a challenge.

The archer has half a second to suck in a breath and not scream between Phil slobbering a line along the softness of his stomach and blowing a loud, wet raspberry into it.

He squirms and bucks and bites back the embarrassing noises as Phil laughs and wrestles him down to continue the tickling torture. Clint gets just barely enough room between them to kick him back and toss a pillow at his head.

In the end, it was his doom.

Phil wraps his legs around Clint’s and tickles his feet. Clint does scream that time, and thrashes so hard he flies off the couch and smacks his head into the glass-top coffee table, it doesn’t withstand the hit.

Tony is laughing at him as Clint sulks. Bruce is taping gauze to the recently shaved wound site he’d finished sewing. Natasha is patting his shoulder, which would be consoling if it wasn’t Natasha. (Steve is sweeping up the bloody, mess of glass. Everyone else had been focused on the alarming rate of blood leaving his skull.) At least Phil is contrite. Maybe next time he won’t tickle Clint so much.

Maybe.


End file.
